I'm unusually saturnine today, no, taciturn would be the word. Haven't been able to muster too much sleep from the past couple of nights. It must be that apprehension, the dèja vû. It has become a strikingly recurrent syndrome every year my birthday approaches. I stop socializing, I become a grumbling bumbling septuagenarian who has generally accepted that his grumbling is the only way this world can come on its own. I just can't fathom what's wrong in me.
Apart from that the indubitable angst at failing to start writing the book I had promised myself for the past ten years. Apparently, the plot has started to take shape in my minuscule brain, which is the reason slumber has eluded me these two past twilights. I have stayed tucked up in the shanil thinking and rethinking the plot, amending, retracting, chucking the plot altogether, restarting with new faith in the plot and in the end always to stop thinking and start writing. The plot shall flow no doubt.
On the work front, things have started to look up, thankfully for my creditors who are passing sleepless twilights in their own shanils. Managed to bag a fruitful order and advance payment is forthcoming. Should hopefully stabilize my flailing financial position. Life is wonderful, let's learn to live it one day at a time. Tomorrow I turn 25. One quarter of life is gone, I enter the grahasth ashram of my Hindu existence.
Although not apt to quote here but curly-hair new friend, G, quoted the following when I passed him this theory about quarter life:-